He pulls the covers off my body and I yelp as he wraps his strong arms around my back and picks me up. The room tilts off balance as he carries me effortlessly, bridal style.

There’s a faint recollection of us being in this same position before. Did he also do it yesterday?

Were those words that came to my mind his?

I must be imagining things. This is Jonathan, after all. He doesn’t feel — at all. Even if he does, he’s perfected the art of deception so well, no one sees past his cool façade.

I wince, but the palpitations of my heart take me more by surprise. “Jonathan? What are you doing?”

“Finding a solution.” He marches to the bathroom, and I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror. Me, entirely naked and small in his arms. Him, suited up and looking every bit the king from his last name.

My hair is dishevelled and my eyes are slightly puffy from sleep. I don’t only look fucked, but also like I enjoyed every second of it.

Jonathan gently lowers me into the bathtub and I wince as my hip bone touches the cold surface.

His attention slides to me at the sound I make. “Endure it for a bit.”

“Is that your answer to everything?”

“You have to endure it to get past it, Aurora. That’s how it works.”

That’s an interesting philosophy, but… “That doesn't mean it goes away, you know.”

“That’s why you have to endure and take action. It doesn’t make a difference if you only endure. If anything, that’ll hurt you in the long run.” He turns the tap on the slightest bit, tests the water on his fingers, and lets it fill the tub. And me.

My muscles relax a little as the cool water loosens the ache between my legs and the soreness in my arse.

He reaches over my head to the countless bath products and retrieves one that was already here when I moved in.

“I use the apple one.” I motion to the bottle beside it.

“Always an objection.” He shakes his head, although he does comply and pours the apple-scented one.

Then he watches with unnerving silence as the water fills the tub and the bubbles cover me to my breasts.

I squirm under his scrutiny. While I’m good with handling silence, I’m rubbish when it comes to Jonathan’s. Considering his reticent nature, it always feels like he’s communicating something with silence.

And it’s not usually good. Jonathan’s silence is the type that’s meant to keep you on your toes.

“You can go. You don’t have to keep watching me."

He doesn’t move or say anything. He remains at the edge of the bathtub, his arms crossed over his chest, and studies me intently, as if reading imaginary words off my face.

The intimidation that is Jonathan King knows no bounds. It’s like he was born to play the role of a bastard with no soul.

The fact that he has his emotions trapped in a vault, or worse, they don’t exist at all, makes him unpredictable.

There’s no way in hell to figure out what he’s thinking about, and I guess that’s what turns me into this confused ball whenever he’s around.

Despite steering clear of puzzles, there’s no denying how much I love solving them. The idea of digging my fingers into something and figuring it all out fills me with a rush of adrenaline.

The thought of never being able to do that with Jonathan is what’s throwing me into an endless loop with no way out.

“You have work, right?” I mutter.

“It can wait.”

“Did you just say work can wait? Isn’t that like blasphemy in your work god manual?”

He raises a brow, probably because of my sarcastic tone, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I own the work. It’s not the other way around.”

“Are you telling me that you could stop working tomorrow if you choose to?”

“I could, but I won’t. There’s no fun in hanging around when you can use those hours to be productive.”

“More like destructive,” I mutter to myself.

“If you have something to say, say it out loud. Hiding makes you seem like a coward, and you’re no coward, Aurora.”

His words send a tingle of pride down my spine. Not that I need Jonathan to tell me I’m no coward, but the fact that he’s probably always thought that way about me says something. No idea what, but it does.

He reaches a hand to my face and I stiffen. Is he going to stroke my cheek?

Now that I think about it, Jonathan hardly touches my face — if ever. The only time he’s done so was earlier when he checked my temperature. He’s never attempted to kiss me either. Not that I would peg Jonathan as the emotional type who would do that, but —

Why am I even thinking about it? First, the tightness in my chest because he left last night. And now, the fact that he didn’t touch my face or kiss me?

Instead of touching me, Jonathan reaches behind me and shuts the tap. My stomach sinks in with something different to relief.

He removes his jacket and lays it on the towel hanger, then undoes his shirt’s cuffs and rolls his sleeves up to expose his taut arms with masculine veins.

By the time he crouches beside me, I’m watching him as if he’s an alien. “What are you doing?”

He flops a hand in the bubbly water, right between my legs like he knows exactly where that is.

His strong fingers grab my aching thigh and rub long circles with a tenderness that I never thought Jonathan was capable of.

My muscles loosen with every passing second and his touch turns more soothing, pleasurable even. My head lies against the edge of the tub and my eyes flutter closed.

My legs open of their own accord the more Jonathan massages my inner thighs, his fingers inching towards my sensitive core, but not touching.

A low moan fills the air and it’s with utter horror that I realise it’s mine. I sink my teeth into the cushion of my bottom lip to keep any further sound from escaping.

Jonathan's pace slows, but he doesn’t stop. “You like this.”

I remain silent, refusing to admit my depraved thoughts.

He grips me by my sex, making my eyes shoot open. The intensity that greets me in his darkened features turns me breathless.

“If you like something I do to you, I expect you to say it. You don’t get to deny it while still enjoying it. We’ve already established that you belong to me.”

“You’ve established that. I never agreed to it.”

“Yes, you did. Not with words, but it was written in big capital letters when you screamed my name as your cunt strangled my dick. It’s right here with the way your folds are inviting me inside even when sore.”

My cheeks redden at the explicit image he paints in my head. Damn him and how easily he can rile me up.

When I say nothing, Jonathan removes his hand from between my legs and stands up. He pulls out a towel and dries his hands on it with sure, firm movements.

“T-that’s it?” I don’t know why the words escape my mouth. I was supposed to ask that to myself.

“That’s it. You don’t deserve something you don’t admit to enjoying.” He throws me an indecipherable glance. “I expect you in the dining room in fifteen minutes. Every minute you’re late will be taken out on your arse.”

And with that, he leaves the bathroom.